


Vulnerable

by KoolJack1



Series: Hannibal Kink Meme Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Control, Psychotherapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:23:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoolJack1/pseuds/KoolJack1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written For The Prompt: Therapists often touch on things that make their patients uncomfortable. Normally, however, the patients just cry. When Hannibal goes somewhere dark during a therapy session, he responds violently instead. (Bonus points if he bites.)</p><p>Bedelia manages to maintain control of the situation and firmly talks Hannibal down. What happens afterwards? Does she punish him? Comfort him? Scold him? All of the above?</p><p>http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2246.html?thread=3082438#cmt3082438</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vulnerable

He's her biggest accomplishment.

If you'd ask most people, everyone but her, what kind of person he was; you'd get a close variation if answers. Kind, collected, handsome, quiet; not only because they were true, but because they were nice things to say. Some might get offended, hearing themselves described as distant, uninvolved, emotionless, cold. What she'd discovered when she observed further, was that this wasn't because they didn't want to offend him, they were afraid to. He'd subtly instilled fear and discomfort into the people that surrounded him, in a way they didn't notice yet still compelled them to tiptoe around him and yeild to him and still call him a friend.

He didn't have friends though, those people who called him a friend were just people he controlled. He controlled every aspect of his world, he had to. His personality required him to contstantly grip control of everything involving himself. 

How he managed to manipulate and control everything and everyone without them ever realizing was because he was far beyond intelligent. They were people who lived normal , average everyday lives. They liked banal things and repition; they enjoyed superficial relationships while accepting they'd only ever have a few real ones.

Hannibal was unimpressed by all of that. She could tell he expected her to be the same when they'd first met. He seemed uninterested in her, in a way that only a trained psychiatrist eye could see and only a trained psychiatrist mind could. He dominated their conversation, politely letting her interject as long as it was on his terms. He answered only questions that he wanted to, and those were only half answers.

That was when she noticed his control problem, he wore it on his sleeve to anyone smart enough to see.

She could see it because she had the same nature to her. She tried to understand if the controlling nature was the problem or a side effect of a problem. He had no tics, sitting across from her; no tells of any emotion at all. He maintained eye contact, he didn't figdet, he spoke smoothly. He spoke flat and emotionless, distant and disconnected to anything in the room.

Most people went to a doctor because of something wrong; they told right away what was bothering them.

Most people went to a psychiatrist with something to start with, an opening line about insomnia or the inability to eat. Not Hannibal.

"Do you have trouble eating or sleeping?"

"No."

"Do you suffer from anxiety? Depression? Suicidal thoughts or behavior?" Se knew his line of work. She knew she didn't have treat him as she treated other patients.

"Certainly not."

"Then why do you think you're here?"

"To talk."

That was what their first session consisted of, small talk. He asked more about her than she asked about him. That's when she saw his issues with control. That was all she knew. She'd have to break past that stone mask and climb his wall to get to him. She'd have to work slow and subtle. Subtle so he didn't close off intentionally, and slowly because she knew taking control and delving into someone who spent their entire life in control and closed off from emotions could be damaging.

She had to earn his respect first, which she did by being as honest and witty with him as she could. She let him hold his control he thought she was unaware of for a few weeks, until he spoke to her as an equal. Then she had to earn his trust, which she'd done with well phrased and perfectly inserted questions that he'd answer more and more of each time over more weeks.

They weren't deep questions, just questions about himself. Likes and dislikes, then progressively got deeper; friendships and relationships, fears. He maintained a form of control than as well, expecting her to answer each of her own questions before he answered them. She played the game with him, let him feel I'm control.

It took months to work further, and it wasn't until she asked about his family that she got any reaction at all.

"Where is your mother and father?"

She watched something dark cross his features and he hesitated, and she assumed he was deciding if he should lie or not. "They passed away when I was very young."

In most cases she'd show sympathy, but this man didn't seek her sympathy, "From what?"

She watched the mask crack that day, "They were murdered." The emotion; the anger, hate, and danger in his voice told her she'd discovered something and he knew it and he wanted her to back away from it 

She did because she wasn't prepared for him to crumble yet.

When he left that day, she half expected him to never return. But he did, right on time, as polite and kind as ever. She was prepared to push this time. She had armed herself with a small taser, and reminded herself this man was deeply troubled in a way that made him anything but another ordinary patient.

He was calm as always, and she planned to strip his control. "You were very distressed last week when I asked about your parents." His eyes narrowed at her.

She remained impassive.

"Speaking of the murder of their parents, anyone would be uncomfortable."

"How old we're you?"

For the first time since they started, he looked away from her, "Seven."

"What family did that leave you with?"

He stared out her window, "I lived in an orphanage until I ran away from there to live with my aunt."

"You had no siblings?"

She'd gotten further, he stood up and slowly paced the room. Her fingers found her small weapon, "An all boys orphanage ." He'd unintentionally told her he had a sister.

"What made you run away from it?" His pacing expanded to her window and the rest of the room; she didn't take her eyes off of him.

"They often hurt the children under their supervision." He spoke of it as if he didn't know this from experience, he'd long ago distanced himself from the trauma.

She wanted to bring it back, "Did they hurt you too, Hannibal?"

He didn't look at her, "They would abuse the boys if they didn't act exactly how they wanted, and they'd sexually abuse them when no one was watching."

He looked at her then, his expression unreadable; but she knew he was checking to see her reaction to the information he'd just shared without really sharing. She was careful to show no pity and just the right amount of compassion.

"And where was your sister?"

His eyes flickered and she watched a pained expression cross his face. She stood up, her eyes trained on him. She'd bared him, she knew she'd cornered a wild animal and she wouldn't be caught sitting down.

"They murdered her too."

"Who was they?" She observed as his hands clenched and unclenched, his breathing slightly faster.

He didn't answer and she took a step closer, and to her surmise he took a step back from her. "Were you there, Hannibal?" She had to be careful, she'd never be this direct and forceful on an unstable patient for fear of breaking them. He was different, he needed to be pushed and cornered.

Se didn't expect him to answer, but he did, "Yes."

She took a step closer, and his eyes darted nervously towards the door. The emotions playing on his face were astonishing; she'd managed to strip his control of himself and the situation and raise anxiety from him.

"You were there, you know what happened to them."

He swayed slightly and his eyes were clenched shut and she knew he was seeing it. Watching it happen again, and she firmly took his arm and guided him to sit again. His breathing was heavier and his body trembled slightly.

"Open your eyes, Hannibal. I want you to tell me what happened, but I don't want you to watch it happen behind closed eyes." His eyes were crazed, violent.

He shoved her back as he stood, "I'd rather show than tell." His familiar calm and kind voice was dark and hateful. He lunged at her, his teeth biting into the skin of her arm just as she pushed the taser into his stomach. His body convulsed and stiffened before he collapsed to the ground. She followed his down quickly, checking his pulse. It was fast but not dangerously so. His expression had lost its danger but held its pain. He was gasping now, and she calmly reached down to loosen his tie.

"Breathe nice and slow," she allowed him the comfort of physical touch, knowing he didn't enjoy it much any other time. She rested her hand on his back as he sat up and struggled to his feet. She stood too, following him as he went to sit again. His body was shaking with the after effects of the mental and physical shock. His fingers ran through his hair repeatedly, and she found his first tick. His fingers pulled the strand from their styled position and she gave him a few minutes to gather himself in silence. His breathing leveled out and that's when she gently took his wrist and pulled his hand away from his hair.

He let her, looking up at her from the chair. He looked vulnerable, the way his usually styled hair hung limply on his face and his expression was unguarded. This would be normal to most people, but for Hannibal this was the most exposed he'd ever been.

"You did really good, Hannibal."

-  
She pushed further the next time, eliciting the same response. She kept the taser with her, this time she was far more mentally prepared.

He paced when she asked how they died, "you said you'd rather show me then tell me how they died, why?"

He paced slightly faster, his fingers running through his hair, "I've never had to say it allowed before."

His breathing was labored again, and she stood to be more even with him. "I'm asking you to tell me now. You were there, what happened." 

"My parents were shot, I'm unsure how Mischa was murdered."

"Mischa," she said, and that broke him again. He turned and lunged at her, and she let him grab her this time. His teeth bit into her shoulder and she placed her forearm firmly on his windpipe and pushed him back. His teeth snapped at her, his hands scratching at her skin as she backed them up to the wall. She knew if he really wanted to hurt her, he would without hesitation. His back was on the wall and she applied more pressure as he snapped his teeth at her.

She took note that his hands were freed, yet he chose not to do much damage with them. He seemed intent on biting her. "You have to gain control of yourself," she instructed, pressing harder when he tried to reach his mouth towards her again. She was choking him, his pants had turned to wheezing and his hands had gone from pushing and scratching to clinging to her blouse. He was shaking again, and her free hand gently came up to pry one hand of fingers free. She held them, his hand hanging limply in her curled fingers.

She braced herself for him to fight her again when she decided to speak again, "Whatever happened to Mischa, you have to stop blaming yourself for it."

He shut his eyes and she felt his throat work against her arm as he swallowed, "I know you can relive it when you think about it and close your eyes, but whatever it is you can see happening to Mischa, you were a child. It wasn't-"

He shocked her then, he whimpered quietly "Stop saying her name." There was no danger in his choked whisper, just a plea. And that's when she eased off his neck and stepped back to give him room. He gathered himself quickly, his fingers pushing his hair from his face before straightening his tie and heading for the door.

His abrupt departure was one he himself would have found rude.

That time she really never expected him to return.

He was right on time the following week.


End file.
